


Nice to Meet You

by 78424325



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 04:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17338646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/78424325/pseuds/78424325
Summary: On a snowy night, she thinks she meets a bewitching knight.





	Nice to Meet You

“How far is it?”

 

The brown-haired prince glances at his side. His friends have been riding with him, trying to race the snow and cold weather. It started as a friendly invitation about a month ago—the blue-haired of the group, Sigurd of Chalphy, had proposed a meeting back then. He argued it was good to de-stress themselves from the adult life they started to feel imposing.

The three promising royals have been busy with their respective state’s affair after graduating the Belhalla Military Academy. Shortly after graduation, the three of them returned to their respective homelands—Sigurd to Chalpy, their blond-haired friend Eldigan to Nordion, and he, the brown-haired prince, to Leonster.

Business and adulting practically keep the royals locked in their homes, and when the opportunity came, he really was not surprised when Sigurd proposed an outing.

“We can hunt,” the blue-haired lord reasoned then. “Or, I don’t know. Meeting ladies?”

The last line he threw practically earned boisterous cackles from his friends. “You are the one to propose such activity?” Eldigan snorted.

“You are not the one to talk,” Sigurd replied, his tone sullen.

The trio was inseparable shortly after befriending each other at the military academy, and now that they had sealed their oath formally, on one solemn night with the help of blood dripping out of their thumbs, their friendship transcended to a brotherly level that can make even sworn-in knights green in envy.

“We promise to come to each other’s aid no matter the cost,” Sigurd recited. The night was cold, but the moon shone brightly that it mirrored Eldigan’s blond hair.

“No matter the cost,” the brown-haired prince repeated, feeling a surge of spirit and urge of devotion rising from deep under his chest.

“May we be loyal to each other,” Eldigan’s calm, deep voice chimed in. “May our honorable ancestors, the great crusaders of Jugdral bear witness to our brotherly oath. Together we ride.”

“And together we prevail,” Sigurd nodded.

“… And may the Everlasting not let my brothers perish before me,” Eldigan’s voice tore the night again. They held their breaths, dripping a blood out of their papercut thumb into a cup. The blonde was the first to savor the drink, followed by the brown-haired prince and lastly Sigurd.

“What was that?” the brown-haired prince muttered when the oath-taking ceremony was done.

“What?” Eldigan of Nordion, with his typical calm demeanor, responded then.

“What you said gave me chills.”

“Ah, Quan. But isn’t it fair for a brother to protect his brothers?”

“Brooding again,” Sigurd smacked Eldigan without any reservation. “I do not want you to protect me, Eldie. We will overcome everything. Life has no chance against us.”

“Judging you, perhaps Eldie should,” Quan chuckled. “Who knows what you will do if we are not paying attention? Even your sister is worried about you in the letters she penned for me!”

“… You correspond with Ethlyn?”

Back then, somehow Quan found it hard to muster a reply.

 

“Not far,” Quan eventually replies, tightening his mantle even more. “Hang in there, friends! I know a good stop before we ride to Leonster.”

“How do you manage?” the rider of a white horse, who has been galloping besides him, glances to the side. “Chalphy is located south of Grannvale. I can imagine cold weather like this is hard for you.”

“H-haha, perhaps you’re right,” the blue-haired royalty responds, balling his fist into a knuckle as he starts to sneeze. “But if I did not do that, you would keep yourself locked even though we are vacationing in Leonster.”

“That’s called being an adult,” the blonde smirks upon hearing that. “And I hate to sound like _me,_ but my state leaves a considerable affair too important for me to ignore. It must be hard for Lachesis to cope with everything alone. She is more than determined, but…”

“Give more respect for our titled head here, Sigurd,” Quan laughs, in which his laughter quickly turns into a cough when snow slaps his face. “King Eldigan of Nordion.”

“My coronation is not finalized yet,” Eldigan acts like he is about to reach the curious, powerful black sword he keeps hanging on his belt. “And please, one more honorific and I dissolve this friendship.”

“Count on Eldie to stay courtly even when he’s jesting,” Sigurd laughs again. “I know the solution. With you inheriting the throne, it is only normal for Nordion to have a… hostess, don’t you think?”

“Hostess?” Eldigan pulls the rein of his horse before the animal bumps into a rock. “Is something wrong with my sister? I know she is young, but look into her eyes and you’ll find mine there. A lion’s.”

“There is nothing wrong with Lachesis,” Sigurd chuckles. “But exactly. Would be nice for the Nordion palace to receive a touch you can count on to help Lachesis. Unless she is also the brooding type like you.”

This time it is Eldigan who bursts into laughter. “I assure you, she is not. Lachesis is perfectly fine filling her days with training in the arts of healing and swordsmanship. Rather than worrying about me, how about you, Sigurd? I can only think a lady of Chalphy will help Lord Vylon to age backward.”

Sigurd bites his lips, holding back a snicker between his teeth. He has heard that often—his recklessness, his quick impulse to jump into action. But in his own personal defense, everything he does is hardly ever for himself. If anything, he thinks himself second and others come first, so that is not… going to serve well as a justification for him to have someone to rein in that adventurous urge… right?

“I wonder, though. Is there not a single lady to capture your fancy so far, Eldie?” Quan urges his mount to add more speed so he can race Eldigan by the blonde’s side. “This continent is not lacking fair ladies of admirable qualities. If you recall Sigurd’s old friend Edain…”

“Blonde meets blonde. You’re building up a lion colony,” Sigurd chirps again, relieved that the focus shifts to Eldigan instead of him. “I heard Princess Ayra of Isaach is a formidable woman of great beauty.”

“Dear friends,” Eldigan clicks his tongue, “am I to look for a bride or to mate a mare?” simple rebuttal effectively silences the two, and the blond-haired royalty simply chuckles, this time putting more speed as if taunting his friends to catch up with him.

“Hey, wait!” spirited as ever, Sigurd gallops incessantly, trying to race Eldigan’s white horse.

“That’s a warning,” Quan chuckles. “Being with Eldie makes me feel like a bandit.”

“I agree,” Sigurd sighs. “He is just chivalrous like that.”

“Especially you,” Quan nudges Sigurd with the heirloom lance slinging over his shoulder.

“Ha! You know what, this is a perfect time to spar…” Sigurd, tickled by Quan’s gesture, slides his silver sword out of his belt and proceeds to nudge Quan back.

“Seriously?” Quan frowns, but not backing down when Sigurd’s sheathed sword comes at him.

“I’ll be careful so Ethlyn still recognizes your face when we get back to Leonster,” Sigurd smirks.

“Y-you—“ with a red face, Quan shifts his lance to parry Sigurd’s counterattack.

“Ah, children,” Eldigan shakes his head, chuckling along the way. His laughter stops when he feels a snowball hitting him from the back of the head. “… My lords and friends, _that_ is dirty.”

“Come on, Eldie! We can play in three!” Sigurd nudges him again. “Triangle attack!”

“More like you trying to pick a fight against us,” Quan smirks. “I’ll be gentle. For Ethlyn!”

“… That sounds weird.”

“Ha! Now you sulk!”

“Oi. What direction again—HEY!” Eldigan has to _glare_ when the second snowball hits his head again. He pauses with one hand still resting on the rein. But it does not take long, because he finds himself making a condemning _tch, tch_ sound before he steers his mount to get close to Sigurd’s.

Despite everything he displays, Eldigan actually smiles. He can count on Sigurd to make him let loose, free of all the courtly demeanor and manners he subjects himself to. It’s not like he hates it—if anything, he believes that reflects the ideal embodiment of knighthood he aspires to exude. He respects King Imka, and he has been nothing but loyal to him. Agustria is supposed to pride itself in the knightly tradition since the era of Hezul, as much as Chalphy can count on the valor of its inheritors to light Jugdral.

The newly-ascended Nordion ruler decides to stop pretending to dislike what his friends pull him into, and instead, joyfully partakes in the mischief. After all, Sigurd’s idea one month ago clearly asked for ‘letting loose’, and Quan’s invitation proposed a nice winter vacation in Leonster before they got to work hard building their nations again.

“I hope Ethlyn fancies Leonsterian winter tea as much as I hope you two will…”

Eldigan imagines Quan’s awkward-yet-firm pen strikes when he wrote the extra note on the sealed parchments which then made their ways to both Chalphy and Nordion. He feels a bit guilty for leaving Lachesis behind in Nordion, but his sense of duty simply says it may not be too good to blatantly appear taking a vacation when he is about to have his own coronation.

Suddenly he wants to inquire King Calf if it is possible to pack Leonster’s winter tea for Lachesis back home.

“Just ride north. There is a manor there where my old friend lives. We’ll rest there for a while,” Quan ponders. “I hope they can take us. I enjoy this, but snow storm is something else.”

“Which one?” Eldigan scans his surroundings. He can see a few rooftops in his further-most vision line.

“Red one with a chimney. Three hundred meters, probably.”

“Alright.”

“Come on,” Sigurd nudges Eldigan again, ending his contemplation. “The last one to arrive is cursed to be an impotent old man who only eats cheese for the rest of his life.”

“I accept your challenge, Sigurd of Chalphy.”

“Darn it, Eldie.”

“My apologies. Impotent Old Sigurd of Chalphy!”

“Ha, now you are talking!” Sigurd snickers. He tries to unbalance Eldigan off the horse by darting a nudge against the blonde’s armpit with his sword, but Eldigan dodges in time and pokes Sigurd back with the black sword he takes off his belt.

“Yield.”

“Chalphy stands proudly against its adversaries!”

“So does Nordion!” Eldigan pushes his attack, taking Sigurd off guard. “A knight does not retreat!”

“Waaa!”

“Hey, Sigurd—“

“Eldie—“

“Ugh!”

The two lords lose their balance and soon after find themselves landing in the coldness of the snow. Eldigan groans, picking himself off from the snow, fixing his velvet shawl as he casts some snow off his white pants. “Sigurd?” he searches around.

“Elfdwief.”

Eldigan looks downward, finding Sigurd land face-first flatly against the snow. He tries to maintain a poker face… tries to keep his expression unperturbed…

… And gloriously fails.

“Sig—“

“Elfdwief.”

“I’m not an elf.”

“Thankf youfff, Yourfff Obvioufs Mawfjestyf.”

Eldigan cackles. He throws his head back and forth, laughing like he has been absent from doing so for a decade. Planting his legs firmer against the white land, he takes Sigurd’s hand, pulling him off the snow with one easy powerful yank. “Well?” he says, traces of cheerful laughter still color his face.

“Bless Hezul for your strength,” Sigurd grimaces. “Where are we? Where is Quan?”

Eldigan follows where Sigurd’s eyes linger. “I have no idea. I’m also a stranger in this land.”

“Quan probably still rides in front of us not knowing we are missing,” Sigurd speaks again. Sheepishly, he mutters, with his head held low like a boy who gets caught doing mischief. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“My hot-headedness. I should be wiser. You are the adult of us two. I should be like you.”

“Don’t be, Impotent Sigurd of Chalphy. A day spent merrily with friends is not a day wasted,” Eldigan pats the blue-haired lord on the shoulder.

“I’ll take it this time,” Sigurd smirks. “Thank you, Eldie.”

“Brothers help each other,” Eldigan nods with a smile. “When you poked me, I realized something.”

“That I’m childish?”

“Oh, that’s even far before,” Eldigan smirks this time. “No. The soil. I suggest we walk with our mounts first. It’s slippery, and who knows what the land has without snow covering it. If our horses get injured, I’m afraid we won’t reach our destination in time.”

“I’ll just follow your lead this time,” Sigurd takes turn nodding. “Ground my ass.”

“Ethlyn will be proud!”

“Not when she gets to see Quan first. Hey, what if Quan rides straight to the palace?”

“I don’t think so,” Eldigan states firmly. “We do not abandon each other, Sigurd. I’d like to believe he probably waits on us at that manor he suggests.”

“Reasonable. Very well, where do we go from here? Gods. Quan did not even say the manor’s name or our prospective host’s name!” Sigurd mutters. “I thought that Quan is too meticulous for this.”

“We all have our defects.”

“And what is yours?”

“Hmmm?” Eldigan chuckles again. “Rather than thinking of that, let’s find our way, shall we?”

Sigurd does not object. He walks alongside his blond-haired friend, both ushering their mounts by herding them to brave the snow. Each plants a firm grip over their mount’s respective rein; their eyes remain vigilantly open and alert of their surroundings.

It does not help. Snow balls and sprinkles start to fall, as if confirming their worst fear in regards of the storm. With that in mind, both knights are more than resolved to reach for a shelter where they can wait, and probably catch Quan’s riding shadow if they are lucky enough.

Eldigan rolls his velvet shawl over him one more time while Sigurd fixes his gloves. He quickly follows suit making his clothing tighter to preserve heat when Eldigan starts covering his head with the hoodie of the traveling cape he does not really bother to button so far.

“I see a building,” Sigurd whispers with a sneeze.

“Let’s go there,” Eldigan pats Sigurd, silently hoping the blue-haired lord does not get sick.

They walk again, more slowly this time now that the ground under them starts to be covered with thicker snow. Eldigan is the first to reach the building Sigurd points out to him—a simple wooden one of rectangular shape, not too big, not too small.

“A stable?” Sigurd says.

“I’ll check,” Eldigan lingers closer. Not sure what to make out of the building they do not even know what is, he moves around, trying to check. Craning his neck to listen to what’s inside, he jolts when…

“Thief!!”

Both knights can only stare in shock. A figure charges at them, a wooden long brush in their hand. Eldigan dodges the first strike aiming to get him in the head easily while Sigurd turns alert, aiming for the silver sword at his belt.

“Wait—“

“No! I’ve had enough of you!!”

“Eldie!” Sigurd rushes, his sword reigns in his dominant hand. “That is dangerous. You okay?”

“Yes. But…”

“No—I’m not done yet… h-huh?”

Eldigan dodges the second strike, catching the shaft being swung at him. His hand clasped the area near the brush, but their attacker forces to take it back just when he is about to take off the hoodie to reveal the face.

“Now you are.” Not wanting to risk another chance of getting hit, Eldigan puts more force in his planted grip, snatching the brush off the figure’s hands with one powerful yank. He is just close to break it above his thighs, but something the thief mutters makes him canceling his intention in the last minute.

“No! Papa—thief—Papa…”

Eldigan watches when the figure tumbles backward, landing against the snow. Sigurd rushes again, aiming his sword at the figure while Eldigan crouches to examine the person. The blue-haired lord can hear his friend gasping softly as his hand moves to undo the figure’s scarf and mantle, curious of whom their attacker truly is.

“Something wrong, Eldie?” Sigurd asks, his eyes warily scanning the unmoving person.

“I’m afraid so,” Eldigan mutters in disbelief. “And it’s us.”

“What do you mean?” confused, Sigurd can only let his friend bending his back to pick the figure up.

* * *

 

She groans.

Lifting her eyelids slowly, she finds herself being rested against a pile of hay. Her bun is rather undone, her hair is rather disheveled now that her red ribbon cannot hold her hair properly like prior. Assessing her surroundings, she quickly picks herself up, assuming a sitting position.

“Where…” she mumbles, and her voice immediately turns into a soft gasp because the other figure tilts his face at her.

“… Gods,” he whispers in disbelief. “I can’t believe it—Eldie is right.”

She frowns. But not for a long time—sense of panic kicks her right in the guts. Out of reflex she searches for the wooden brush she previously armed herself with, but there is nothing around her. She cannot find anything around where she sits—or rather, where he lays her down. “Y-you brought me here?!”

The man, clad in what appears to be a pretty regal white suit, instantly goes alert upon seeing her reaction. He takes off his hoodie, revealing blue strands crowning a concerned expression, his blue cape billows as he moves. “Wait, please! We did not mean any harm. I swear!”

“What do you mean not meaning any harm?! Sneaking up on a snowy night, you must be the thief!”

“Huh? Would you listen to me for a second—“

“Sigurd?”

They can hear sounds of the wooden doors being pushed. Another figure comes in, his calm voice and serene entry successfully silences the ongoing debate. She watches the figure, clad in red velvet shawl and overcoat to cover his white attire, holding a lantern in one hand while another bearing the weapon she has been looking for.

… Right, her brush. It is in his hand, which he then slowly sets aside, leaning against the wooden wall.

He raises his lantern to check on his surroundings—first the place they hole themselves in, then her, then his own friend he just called by Sigurd.

From where she sits, she can see how beautiful his hair is, under the solemn lantern light. Golden mane shines lustrously as if it’s been painted with brilliant moonlight, unyieldingly brightens the cold snowy night. She feels nailed where she is… his eyes appear to be gentle, unlike his friend’s which she will be delighted to compare to a raging wave—spirited, vivacious, full of life and somehow overwhelming. But this new stranger appears so… tranquil that for a moment, she thinks she is still unconscious.

She does not really get acquainted with many men.

Her parents are people of notable standing, people privileged enough to gain access to Leonsterian court parties and tea banquets reserved for nobles and distinctive members of society of lower ranks. But she is never too fond of the crowd, because not only she finds them too exhausting for her frail body, she also finds them to be wasting time.

She knows her manners, because being someone of such standing gives her the privilege of having private tutors who make her well-versed in the art of court etiquette. But often times she finds most noblemen introduced to her to be too demanding, too boisterous, too much of anything that she feels drowning in silence as she accompanies them talking.

The man sets the lantern at his feet, and she withdraws hastily, suddenly remembering that she has been too stunned to react. She expects another bombastic reaction like his blue-haired companion did her, but instead the handsome blond-haired stranger nods at her.

_… Handsome…_

Her manners say ogling is rude. Her upbringing will have chastised her for being so brazen by keep looking at him. The saddest part is that this time she cannot find any logical argument to reason with herself, for deep down inside she knows that there is nothing but plain truth there.

Ogling is rude. She should have minded her manners.

… But this stranger is also handsome.

“Please, don’t be alarmed,” handsome blonde speaks again, his voice is rich yet low; a combination of firmness and comfort would have been demurely found in there. “First thing first, Miss, I am terribly sorry. It was pure self-defense, but I should have treated you better.”

“Translation—he had no idea he was fighting a lady,” the blue-haired man chuckles.

“That is true, I’m afraid,” the blonde nods again. “You landed face-first so I brought you here. My friend there actually experienced something similar just today, so I’d rather make sure you are alright.”

“Oi oi, Eldie,” blue-haired lord grimaces, his cheeks turning red.

“I… I’m not injured,” she slowly begins to find her tongue back. Now that words feel smoother in between her lips, somehow her courage finds its way.

“Glad to hear that. May I check?” the blonde lingers closer.

“Um…”

“M-Miss. No need to unlace your gown, please.”

“Huh … O-oh!!” she gasps, all red and awkward. How can this happen?! This has never occurred to any nobleman she encountered before. This is only a stranger and his ardent companion, alright—

_… A handsome stranger, though._

“So, what is this thief business all about?” Sigurd folds his arms. “First, we are not…”

“Well, I don’t fancy being compared to a thief, but I understand why she suspected us,” Eldigan cuts in.

“I... my apologies, Sirs. I never meant to attack you. And I’ve always been like this. Embarrassing, but… I was born rather frail, so heavy activities kind of… easily tire me. Not too suitable to catch a thief, I imagine,” she chuckles awkwardly, gathering her spirit and shyly faces the strangers. “There have been thievery occurrences around here lately. Instead of money, it’s cattle and horses that are being stolen. I… have no idea how the thief even did it, but…”

“But?” Sigurd’s curiosity blossoms while the lady fidgets with her gown.

“There’s hardly any sound. But when the morning comes, something is missing,” she continues. “I—I’m afraid the thief kills the animal first before dragging it away. H-how… could…”

“… I understand,” Eldigan concludes. “That is very noble, but you can harm yourself that way. We have no idea whether they came in a group or alone, so I implore you to not do that again.”

“That is very kind of you,” the lady bites her lips. “But I have to refuse. Someone has to do it. Our horses are my father’s pride, he’s been taking care of them diligently to make them presentable for an annual Leonsterian winter festival. His legs are a bit weak too, so I can’t forgive if someone is to…”

“Tsk tsk. Miss, my friend there is right. You can barely run, how are you going to catch the thief?”

“T-that’s…”

“Sigurd,” Eldigan nudges his friend.

“I am right though,” Sigurd retorts. “That is why—let us help you!”

“P-pardon?”

“Right, Eldie?” Sigurd laughs. “This makes waiting worthwhile. We can have fun until Quan arrives!”

“Quan?” the lady cocks an eyebrow. “Quan—ooh! Don’t tell me… Leonster’s very own Prince Quan?”

“Ah. Ah, yes. We are his friends,” it is Eldigan who answers.

“Then you must be Lord Sigurd, of Chalphy?” the lady rises quickly. “Oh, my! Um—well met, Lord Sigurd,” she drops into a curtsy. “I’ve seen you a couple of times last year during Leonsterian seasonal banquets. Prince Quan presented Lady Ethlyn to us,” she explains.

Eldigan smirks so widely that Sigurd is too willing to smother him with his own scarf. “I told you so,” the blonde snickers. “Truth will reveal itself to you. No need to choke it out of our dear Quan there.”

“The Lady Ethlyn is very pretty,” she contemplates a bit. “And very courageous. There was an instance where she accompanied the prince inspecting our troops, and her words were nothing but encouraging. I recall one of our squires nearly dropped to his knees hearing that. What’s the name again…”

“Finn,” Sigurd cuts in, rather sourly. “He did not stop following me that day like a terrier.”

The lady smiles a little. “And what about you, Sir? A friend of Prince Quan’s as well, if I heard you right?”

Sigurd exchanges a glance with Eldigan. “You’ve never seen him before?” the blue-haired lord finally opens his mouth to speak. It is probably true; after Eldigan dealt with family matters at home, he had been engrossed in his courtly duties and settled some things with King Imka, especially in regards to Lachesis’ position in Nordion. Eldigan fought for his half-sister’s right to be titled princess and being treated as a full, legitimate blood princess of Nordion and Agustria is entitled to, despite Lachesis’ status which makes her minor for being his half-sister.

“Outdated rule,” one time Eldigan remarked sourly to Sigurd when the blue-haired Chalphy heir dropped by for a visit. “Hezul the Great passed down Mystletainn to our hands through his daughter. Why do I have to prepare an oration and a case defense to argue whether Lachesis has the right to exist within the same space like me or not?”

“I did not know you are quite a reformist,” Sigurd replied, moving a piece on his side of a chessboard he was playing Eldigan with. “I mean, I thought with all the knightly upbringing and devotion of yours…”

“What is chivalry when it fails to shield the unfortunate?” Eldigan moved his knight, obliterating Sigurd’s rook. “What is nobility when it fails to dignify the vulnerable? Hezul showed us that tradition, when blindly heeded, became predatory instead. If our very own founding father entrusted Mystletainn in the care of his daughter and let her marry whomever her heart yearned for, what’s with these lords?”

It was a checkmate, and the silent piece probably symbolized what Eldigan felt most passionate about—tearing down both of Sigurd’s rooks, the way chivalrous acts should have been, against towering obstacles which only entrapped others inside.

The lady slowly shakes her head, looking wary. “I—my apologies. I must have been absent. Last year’s winter was so cold, and my vulnerable body was just… I… spent two months because of flu…”

“Eh, it’s alright. Not a big deal. I—“ Eldigan wants to speak again, but she cuts in.

“B-but I can try if you allow me! If I did not mishear you, I heard Lord Sigurd address you as Eldie! I-is that your name, Sir, or do you prefer to go by something else?”

Eldigan pauses. And she holds her breath. Under the dim light this stranger already looks this handsome; she wonders how dazzling he has to be during the day. Perhaps it’s good that they met at night, under an unlikely situation like this. What if she cannot handle it? What if the universe itself cannot handle it because two suns shining at the same time will be too much for this Earth. What if—

“Haha.”

She tilts her head.

Chuckles. She has to be mishearing it. It can’t be… right?

But—

The handsome blonde does chuckle. It’s toned down unlike his lordly blue-haired friend beside him, but his eyes light up in a way which invokes a feeling of… security to her. And somehow in those eyes she finds comfort. And in a way, acceptance.

Perhaps she is projecting her own ideas onto him. But for the love of anything holy, despite her silent, utter embarrassment, she cannot think of anything else. There is only gentleness, utmost gentleness reflecting in those eyes; she would have thought she was dreaming. How different is he now! This is no longer the blond stranger who caught her brush swing at ease, neither is this the man who yanked it off her hands with just one speedy take. Nor is this the man who jolted like a lion which sensed an attack…

“Uh—umm. Did I… did I offend you?” she squeaks.

“Oh, pardon me,” the chuckles die down, replaced by a bright, sincere smile. “No, you don’t. Actually, I should be the one apologizing from the very start... and yes, just Eldie is fine. And you are, if I may?”

“Grahnye, Sir.”

“Would you please say it one more time? I could not hear you,” Eldigan cranes his neck out of reflex, approaching her closer. And somehow she finds herself too shy when he does that…

“It’s—Grahnye.”

“Ah, right. I did not remember. You must have been absent from banquets often,” Sigurd clasps his chin.

“If that is the case, I shall,” Eldigan nods at her. “Lady Grahnye.”

“I am not—really befitting of that title, S-Sir,” she squeaks again, feeling so absurd that she loses her voice just because the stranger does not peel his eyes off of hers. “We are just a bit privileged compared to our neighbors, but our position is not so much of a grand standing which…”

“A lady is a lady, titled or not,” Eldigan smiles again. “And I can be sure of it. Quan never fails to choose the right people to be acquainted with. So by all means, Lady Grahnye.”

“Then perhaps… what you just said about His Royal Highness… applies to you too,” she murmurs. “Both of you.”

“I can only hope so. I’m a simple knight,” Eldigan’s smile softens. “Now, let’s save the world.”

“Finally, an action!” Sigurd grins. “I almost thought you trapped me in courtly talk on purpose.”

“What makes you think I did not?” Eldigan smirks mischievously this time.

* * *

 

They wait.

She loses track of time—how many minutes have passed since then; since both lordly knights propose to wait inside the stable until the thieves show up. The moment Sigurd blows off the lanterns, uneasiness quickly overcomes her because the engulfing darkness feels… suffocating.

Grahnye already despises her limitation—her frail health, her feebleness because of her body… and she dreads being left alone in a dark room because it dulls her senses even more, causing her anxiety to skyrocket as it only fuels her helplessness.

But when Sigurd hides himself behind a pile of hay, she finds herself bumping into another person’s chest, who stands behind her like the guard she never had.

“It’s me.”

“Sir Eldie?” she whispers.

“Yes.”

His simple, firm reply again invokes a feeling of security within her.

“When I call you, I’d like you to light the lanterns swiftly, Lady Grahnye,” his courteous tone startles her again. “And then we’ll get to work. Do not let the culprits take them away.”

“I understand,” she nods, hoping her voice conveys her serious resolve to him now that everything around them is dark.

“I will protect you. They will not lay a hand on you.”

“I—thank you, Sir Eldie,” she breaths.

“No need. Now let us hide,” he gently taps her shoulder, bringing her to crouch with him. They lie low, barricaded by piles of hay and packed straws, his body being so close to her that she can almost feel his warmth.

It feels like forever until she hears a creaking sound. Slow but sure the doors are slightly open, revealing two figures clad in long coats, sneaking in while little snow balls hail outside.

She gasps. And Eldigan’s strong hand quickly lands on her shoulder.

“That little commotion just now ruined our chance…”

“That old buffoon keeps such magnificent horses.”

“Why don’t we get inside to see what more we can get? Just a senile old man and a frail heiress. Won’t be hard isn’t it?”

“Speaking of heiress, alright…”

She desolately tugs on Eldigan’s sleeve upon hearing a neighing horse.

Eldigan’s hand lands on her shoulder again.

“Move it, wretched mount! I’m your owner for now!!”

The horse neighs so loudly, and she can hear a cracking sound.

“Is that…” whispering, she grabs the brush beside her, while the lanterns dangle in her other hand. “Nooo! Stop! Bruno and Crystal! No… don’t whip them, you monsters!”

“Miss!” Sigurd shouts, tapping Eldigan’s shoulder. Both lords exchange a short nod before leaping out of their hideout. “… Damn it.”

Too late. The lady is out of their sight, and worse, she is the one with the lanterns.

“Hellooo, dear heiress,” from a corner of the stable, both lords can hear the thieves’ cooing voice. “We’ve been kind of curious of you. Let the horses go, and you won’t be harmed.”

“Stop! No… no, that’s the only ones we have!” she yells so loudly, her hands gripping on the brush. “Please,” her voice croaks a little. “Return the horses to me. Don’t—don’t whip them.”

“They don’t want to go with us. You need to discipline your mounts, dear heiress,” one of the thieves cackles. “So long! Best regards for your stupid father.”

“No… ah—!”

“Stay where you are,” another thief threatens. “Next time we won’t just tackle you.”

She bites her lips. Too hard that it feels hurt. Perhaps she’s bleeding by now—she does not care. Why is it so hard, to be useful? To take care of her own problem? To be able to do something for her household instead of being taken care of many times? She feels so useless. Useless. With a body that is not always moving as she commands it. With short breaths that do not always catch up to her paces …

Proud, proud Leonster and its long-standing army, rich in tradition, decorated in valor. Proud, noble Leonsterian knightly classes which never fail to fence their small but proud country when adversary strikes. The mighty Leonster, lance of Thracia …

… And then there’s her. Heiress only to the name. Neither wealth nor glory she has. And then…

“Hold it right there.”

“W-who… goes there?!”

“Miss Grahnye?”

“I—oh, alas!” she quickly snaps herself out of her despair, searching for the lanterns now that she hears someone calling her name. Nearly landing a kick when a hand touches her, she feels so relieved when it is none but Chalphy’s Lord Sigurd who approaches her.

“Are you alright?” the blue-haired lord asks, helping her to ignite the lanterns she never.

“What about your companion?”

“Ah. He…”

At first she does not understand why the blue-haired lord does not seem to be perturbed at her question. But as her shaking, trembling hands manage to light a lantern while Sigurd does the other, she understands why.

Her Sir Eldie stands before her, fencing her and Sigurd in between the thieves. His demeanor is totally different than what he displays to her. The knight silently unsheathes his sword—a curious yet menacing black blade, as he glares _murderously_ at the thieves.

… Right. Murderously.

“Whipping animals. Attacking a lady even after knowing she is not supposed to be your opponent,” he shakes his head. His entire being exudes a strong knightly aura—ever steeled, ever ready, and for a moment looking at the courageous knight who is more than determined to protect everyone in the stable, including his fellow-knight friend there, she thinks she is witnessing… a lion.

A lion.

Golden mane shines brilliantly before solemn lantern light, as the unsheathed sword symbolizes a lion bearing his fangs to threaten those he has marked.

“This is the Demon Sword, Mystletainn,” his eyes glint as he gets into a fighting stance. “If you don't wish to become its prey, then don't come anywhere near me…”

“Who are you?! Ah, who cares—quick, before everyone’s up!”

She watches him move seamlessly. His sword pierces against padded clothing the thieves wear to protect themselves. Cottons and goose feathers fall haplessly out of the hole he carves, spreading against the hays like flower petals during summer.

“By Mystletainn!” the red velvet knight shouts again. Somehow his battle cry brings a lordly nuance to his person, and she… well, she can only watch in awe, with Lord Sigurd standing guard beside her. Her Sir Eldie charges again, and in that very moment she thinks she has seen… light.

… Of course there’s light; after all she is holding a lantern. But rather than that, there is something unspeakable with the way Sir Eldie fights, the way he invokes his battle cry, the way he speaks of his sword. Unyielding, confident courage fueled and blessed by warriors and ancestors of the old age pierces through to fight injustice and oppression.

… A true knight…

“Yield.”

“No way!”

“Or PERISH!”

“… W-we surrender!”

* * *

 

It never crosses Quan’s mind that everything will end this way.

Of course, at first he thinks Sigurd is pulling a prank on him—as always, or perhaps as the kind signature now that his blue-haired friend low-key begrudges him for not being transparent about Ethlyn.

Thinking of it makes him sneeze now that he’s got a cup of tea in his hands. The manor where his old friend lives is still as modest and serene as it was the last time he visited as a teenager. Quan shows up, being graciously welcomed by the parents of his old friend, Grahnye—and both share his concerns when he says he cannot find either Sigurd or Eldigan along the way.

He has been sailing the route they previously raced three times by now, paying attention to any piling snow for fear his friends are trapped under. But none—nothing. He is confident of his own friends’ prowess—after all they are the descendants of noble crusaders of Jugdral, supposed inheritors of their regalia weapons. Finest knights with stellar military career during their years at the academy, knights paralleled only by themselves as well as their friendship shines.

Eldigan is calm and reasonable. He trusts him not to spur into action recklessly, but Sigurd…

Only when the front gate is open that he can breathe relief. Quan sees Sigurd’s mount galloping into the manor’s front yard, and behind it, Eldigan’s follows suit. What makes everything spectacularly unexpected is that the person who rides as Eldigan’s passenger.

“Papa,” his old friend mutters, her voice a bit shaken, but rather than fright or pain, she looks… happy. Eldigan has hoisted her gently off the horse, and in no time Quan witnesses his old friend quickly flies into her old father’s stretched arms.

“Grahnye. Dear, dear Grahnye. Where have you been, child? You make me worried sick!”

“The thieves, Papa…” she appears to be enthusiastic to save her story for later, or at least for a more… appropriate setting, now that her hair is disheveled and her mantle rugged. She makes a muffled astonished sound when seeing his face being among the people who warm themselves by the fireplace at their comfortable living room, and quickly drops into a curtsy. “Goodness. Your Royal Highness!”

“Oh, Grahnye. It’s alright,” Quan quickly rises from his seat, taking her to stand up. “By Njorun… I may be a prince and heir presumptive, but we are still acquaintances. Come on. Sit down, you look…”

“Ah—yes, I just had an adventure!” she smiles, her eyes sparkling as she speaks. “Papa, we caught the thieves. Actually, it’s these noble knights whom we have to thank for. They are now at the stable, neatly tied up and will not pose any threat to anyone ever again!” she kisses her father. That feels nice. It’s been a long time since she feels enthusiastic and hopeful about… life. A life where she is also a player instead of a spectator, who can only watch from afar with jealousy as others run free.

“Thieves?” Quan peeks from his teacup. “Oh… ah, the cattle stealer!”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness. Now you can alert the authorities. Leonster stands proud and strong as always!” she makes a military salute, earning endearing laughter from everyone else in the room.

“So you know,” Eldigan gestures at Quan.

“Oh, yes. I haven’t had any clue so I can’t do anything so far. How did…” he queries, but his blond-haired friend simply chuckles. “Now that both of you are here, we can finally ride back to Leonster,” Quan says, deciding to interrogate his friends later so Ethlyn can enjoy the story as well. “Sorry to worry you, Uncle. I’d like to stay longer, but I’m so keen to reach the palace before midnight. Perhaps we can play with a sleigh the next day or two and drop by?”

“Certainly, Your Royal Highness. We are always more than delighted to receive you.”

“I must personally thank you, Sir Eldie,” she turns around, facing the handsome tall lion who just covered where she failed. “If not because of you, we wouldn’t be able to catch the thieves. And… um… if not because of my carelessness…” this time her face turns fiery red again, and she shyly holds back.

Just like prior, he courteously approaches her. Firmly shaking his head, he speaks to respond to her. “Please. I’ve told you what you did is very noble. I’m more than glad to assist you, Lady Grahnye.”

 “B-but, Sir Eldie…”

“Oh, my,” her father finally finds his voice back. “Grahnye, where are your manners? My dear child, did I not raise you better? Eldie, you say? … That’s… King Eldigan of Nordion, Grahnye.”

“King?” she gasps. “King Eldigan… of Nordion? … King? Oh—oh, goodness!!”

“It’s alright,” Eldigan chuckles lightly. “I haven’t had my formal coronation yet, it’s alright.”

“B-but—Sire, Your Majesty…”

“Before I take my leave, Lady Grahnye,” Eldigan laughs again, waving his hand back and forth in a humorous manner. “Our Nordion is located in the south of Agustria. I trust that the climate will be warm enough even during winter like this. In gratitude for sheltering us tonight, I’d be glad to have you in the spring when Leonsterian entourage graces my court with their visit.”

“I—don’t understand,” she breaths. “Is that an invitation…?”

“Gracious lord, what happened to our daughter?” her father folds his arms. “My apologies, my lords! Grahnye is usually perceptive and adept, perhaps her health again …. Grahnye, I understand you do not get invited every so often, but—”

“Papa!”

“Gods,” her mother slaps her own forehead, frustrated.

“Ah. Pardon me for not being so clear. If Your Ladyship is willing, let me make myself clear then. Can I?” the Nordion sovereign smiles a little. When he sees her making a small nod, he approaches closer, and…

She thinks she’s dissolving into a shameless puddle.

And no—her parents are actually right; she is not the kind who subjugates herself into an endless self-deprecation abyss; if anything she knows her dignity and where she stands. But for this one—no. She can’t think of any other suitable metaphor to describe her current situation.

He maintains a respectful distance, but even then it is still close enough for her to observe. What she does not expect is when he makes one courteous bow before gently taking her hand, bringing it to his lips… his forehead softly touches the back of her hand as his lips graze her knuckles…

“Nice to meet you, Lady Grahnye. And yes—come to my house this spring.”

“Sire… King… Eldigan—!”

“Just Eldie is fine,” he chuckles again. “Anything else, before we gallop again?”

“N-nice to meet you as well,” she whispers, dropping into a curtsy. “… Eldie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm down with cold (too late? xD) so here have something I wrote in a spur moment! I really spent Saturday and Sunday being sick and sleeping like a log. Who would have thought too much sleeping made you frustrated? x)) 
> 
> So it seems there aren't many EldiGrahn contents out there, and here I am willing to give it a try :) feel free to throw in your comments! As always, it's a pleasure to read them all ^^ I've got another thought about EldiGrahn but one of them is that I simply want to give them a happier life OTL
> 
> I'll be emptying my drafts before it rots there, so the regular update for Drinking the Mystletainn may stall a bit. Anyway, I hope you are all remaining in good condition!~ Use me as a bad example of not to be, eheh~ happy January! Yesssh first work in 2019~!


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